


Trophy Father

by blakefancier



Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Body Horror, Depression, M/M, PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-26
Updated: 2012-10-26
Packaged: 2017-11-17 01:30:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,648
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/546102
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blakefancier/pseuds/blakefancier
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Howard wakes up in a strange place and no matter how hard he tries, he can't figure out what's going on.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Trophy Father

**Author's Note:**

> This story grabbed a hold of me and refused to let go until I wrote it. There's more to it, of course there is, because my brain is terrible and hates me. But there you go. :-D Now I can get back to the WIPs I was working on and finish them up. Then, and only then, will I come back to this one (hopefully) and expand it into a series.

Howard opens his eyes and immediately closes them as the bright lights of the room make his head hurt. He tries to remember why that would be the case. He doesn’t remember drinking. As a matter of fact, the last thing he does remember is Peggy and… an experiment? 

He takes a deep breath and opens his eyes again, doing a mental double take when a face peers down at him. It's a middle-aged man with an unkempt van dyke and greasy dark brown hair. 

The man looks familiar; he's probably some SHIELD technician. "You're awake," he says in a dubious voice.

"Yeah. Jesus, my head fucking hurts and… Why the hell can't I move?" His eyes widen and his heart pounds in his chest. He tries to wiggle his fingers, tries to turn his head, but nothing happens. What's going on? What went wrong?

"It's nothing, Da—" The man huffs softly. "You're fine. Why don't you get some sleep? You look tired."

A wave of exhaustion washes over him and he can't keep his eyes open. He doesn't fight it. He closes his eyes and lets sleep take him. 

***** 

The next time Howard wakes up, he's in a different room. He's strapped to an exam table, stripped down to his boxers, but at least he can move now. He flexes his hands and curls his toes before looking around. The walls are metal and the lights are too bright and it's obviously an interrogation room. He forces himself to take a slow, even breath and let it out. He is *not* going to panic. He always knew this was a possibility. 

A part of the wall opens up and the man from before walks in. He's wearing a ratty black jacket, zipped up to his throat, and stained jeans, but his van dyke is neat and his hair is clean. "Hey, you're awake! Fantastic. How are you feeling?"

Howard flinches when the man leans over him and pokes his chest. "I'd feel better if you unstrapped me." 

"I bet you would." The man tilts his head and smiles; the familiarity of the movement makes Howard uncomfortable. "But I'm afraid I can't, not until you answer a few questions for me."

Howard tenses.

"What's your name?"

"What's yours?" he shoots back.

The man blinks in surprise, then laughs self-consciously. "Right. Of course. You don't know who I am. I'm… My name's Tony. Now your turn."

"Howard." The man… Tony probably already knows that. "Where am I?"

"What year is this?" Tony asks, ignoring his question.

"What am I doing here?" Howard counters; a flicker of annoyance crosses Tony's face.

"How old are you?"

"Who do you work for?" Probably the Russians. It's always the damn Russians.

"Work for?" Now Tony looks surprised. He takes a step back and frowns. "What do you mean—" Tony's eyes widen and he laughs. "You think you're a prisoner! You think I'm interrogating you."

"Aren't I? Aren't you?" Howard lifts his chin. "You're barkin' up the wrong tree, pal. You're not gettin' anything from me!"

Tony chuckles. "Wow, you really are paranoid, aren't you? You look tired."

Suddenly, Howard can't keep his eyes open. As he's pulled into sleep, he hears Tony say, "Jarvis, pull up the file SHIELD has on my dad."

***** 

He's in the same room when he wakes up, but he's alone and no longer strapped down, so that's something. He carefully sits up and looks around the small, circular room. It's sparse; the only items in the room are the cot he's on and a desk and chair. He runs his fingers through his hair, scratches his cheek, then gets to his feet to walk the perimeter. He runs his hand over the wall as he does, trying to find where it opened up earlier, but it's smooth and seamless. Still, he finds the security cameras, or what he thinks are security cameras, up near the ceiling. They're tiny and sophisticated and he's never seen anything like them before. 

That thought leaves him cold. 

He sighs, flops back on the bed, and considers the idea that maybe it isn't the Russians. Maybe those reports Peggy gave him aren't premature, maybe HYDRA is rearing its ugly head again. His chest aches at the thought and he rubs his eyes. God, he's exhausted. He's getting too old for this game, no matter what Peggy says. 

There's a small hissing sound and the wall slides open again; Howard sits up. Tony walks into the room carrying a bundle of clothes, which he tosses at Howard. 

Howard grimaces—an undershirt and jeans—but puts them on. "Are you HYDRA?" he asks, because he's never been fond of games.

Tony starts. "Am I—No, no, I’m not."

"Then who are you working for? The Russians? The Cubans?"

"I'm American, born and bred." Tony gives Howard a sardonic smile.

He sneers at Tony. "I've seen plenty of traitors who were born and bred Americans."

"We're at SHIELD—"

"Don't lie to me, you little shit!" Howard rises to his feet, hands clenched. "I built SHIELD from the inside out. I know every inch of it!"

Tony blinks, then he gives a cold, plastic smile. "Well, this is familiar. Tell you what, 2.0, why don't I give you some alone time."

Before Howard can retort, Tony turns around and stalks out. 

Howard sighs and slumps on the bed; great, just great. He just showed his hand and gave them information on himself. Fuck! Well, at least he's still conscious. 

*****

Howard stares up at the ceiling and does not look at the box of tools and the strange electronic device on the desk. Every time he looks at them, his fingers twitch and he has to fight the almost unbearable urge to break open the gadget to see what it does.

Tony called it an iPad.

It's beautiful; white and sleek and simple.

God, he's so bored, but he won't give in because he knows this is a test. He's not going to give them anything more. He's not. 

*****

He says, 'you look tired,' and feels a smug sense of satisfaction when his eyes close and he drifts off to sleep. 

***** 

Either Tony is drugging him or has programmed him, either way, he knows this isn't real. Most of it isn't real. Some of it isn’t real. He doesn’t eat or drink or piss or sweat and it's not right. He knows it's not right.

When Tony comes into the room, Howard watches him, waits for him to slip up, to make a mistake. He's getting out of here. He is; he just has to wait for the right moment. 

Then things get confusing.

He has an episode. It begins, the way it usually does, with the smell of burnt and rotting flesh. The scent is so strong, he can practically taste it in the back of his throat. He gags and—

_Someone is screaming, screaming as if they're dying, maybe they are, and Howard can smell putrefying flesh and blood and offal. And he doesn't look, he doesn’t look at the boys on the gurneys, the boys dying slowly, missing limbs, eyes haunted._

_He doesn't look. He has to talk to Phillips. He has to find Phillips. He doesn’t have time for these boys, these children who are dying by inches. He—_

When he comes out of it, he's curled on the floor, throat raw, his breath coming in harsh pants. 

Tony is on the floor with him, hand on his back, cradling him close; Howard presses his face against Tony's chest, feeling something hard and unyielding under the jacket Tony always wears. "It's okay, you're okay. You're alright, Da—Howard. You're safe."

Howard wants to laugh. He wants to make a run for it, but his body is paralyzed by the memory and he can still smell death in the air. He can still taste it.

He hates that Tony sees this weakness. He hates himself. 

He's weak, so weak. He always has been. 

*****

The iPad is amazing, too amazing to be true. The things it can do are plausible, completely plausible, but the level of technology needed to make it so is… No one is there yet. He's not there yet.

He doesn't know what's going on. He doesn't know if this is a dream or if reality has been turned on its head. 

Who does Tony work for? 

Who?

He fights the urge to fling the machine against the wall. Instead, he carefully opens it up and marvels, ideas spinning through his mind, bright and loud, like fireworks in the night sky. 

***** 

"I have something for you," Tony says, sounding oddly shy. He's holding something behind his back; it looks like a magazine. 

Howard doesn’t know exactly what's going on here. All he knows is that there is a strange energy between the two of them. He doesn’t think it's sexual, at least it's not on his part, but he can't quite categorize it. Tony is, by turns, fascinated and repelled by him. 

"Hello?" Tony snaps his fingers. "You in there?"

Howard blinks and shakes his head. "What? What do you have for me?" Tony tosses the magazine on the bed and, oh, Howard was wrong, it's not a magazine, it's a comic book. His throat aches with emotion and his hands shake as he reaches out to touch the almost brittle cover. He clears his throat. "Where did you get this?"

"My dad collected them. He couldn't stop raving about Captain America." Tony stares at him, as if waiting.

"If this is about the super soldier serum…" He swallows hard and turns to the first page. His eyes sting and he fights the urge to scream.

"It's not." Tony sits on the bed. "You knew him."

"I knew a lot of people during the war," he says softly. He doesn’t want to talk about Steve. He wants to talk about Captain America even less. 

"They say he was born on the 4th of July," There's something warm in Tony's voice, like what he said was a joke. If it is, Howard doesn't know the punch line.

"*They* say a lot of things." His hands tremble harder and he clenches them into fists. Tony lays a hand on his arm and Howard looks up. And there it is again, that inscrutable expression. He decides to take a chance. His situation can't get any worse, and it's not as if he hasn't used sex to get what he wants before. He leans in slowly, and Tony frowns. 

He keeps the kiss soft and chaste, and for a moment, he thinks Tony is going to lean into it, going to deepen it. But instead, he's shoved away, hard, and Tony bolts off the bed, arms pinwheeling, feet skittering on the cement floor. Tony's back hits the wall, his face turns red, then pales, but the look of horror never fades.

"You… You!" Tony points at him, then wipes his mouth. "Don't you *ever* do that again!" He slaps the flat of his hand against the wall and the panel slides open. He practically runs out of the room and as the panel slides shut, Howard hears Tony say, "Call my therapist, Jar—" 

Howard shoves the comic on the floor and slides it under the bed with his foot, then he sighs. It was worth a shot. 

At least it was a nice kiss.

*****

Tony walks into the room a little stiffly and Howard can't help but grimace. The right side of Tony's face is horribly bruised and his bottom lip is red and swollen.

"I should see the other guy?" Howard says from his sprawl on the bed.

"What? Oh." Tony smiles carefully. "Right. Yeah, we took care of them, all right. Fucking Doom. He's a real creep. Richards should take care of his own messes." 

"Richards?" Howard frowns. That's the first time Tony's used a name. "Who's that?"

"Re— You know what? It doesn't matter. How are you feeling? Any more flashbacks? What were they called in your time? Were they flashbacks? Shellshock episodes?"

Howard goes cold. "I don't have shellshock." 

"Of course. Stark men are made of iron, right?" Tony scoffs. "Billionaire weapons contractor. Take away the fancy suit, what are you?"

So it's personal then. Howard shouldn't be so surprised. "Same thing I was with it. But if you haven't figured that out at your age, you never will." 

Tony rubs his chest through his clothes, right where the hard piece of metal is.

"You gotta bomb taped to your chest, Tony?" Jesus, bombs are a horrible way to go. 

"Feels like it sometimes." He crosses his arms over his chest. "Lemme out." 

The panel slides open and Howard decides to take his chance while Tony is injured. He rushes the opening, punching Tony hard in the solar plexus so that drawing breath, much less speaking, will be difficult. It hurts, it fucking hurts because he hits some sort of metal plating, but when Tony goes down, he dives out of the cell into a… workshop?

It's strange and fascinating and completely wrong. He shakes his head and makes a run for the door, which is locked. He looks around, trying to find something to jimmy the door open when someone says, "I wouldn’t do that if I were you, Mr. Stark."

It feels like the ground has fallen out from under him because… because he knows that voice. He— "Edwin?"

"You son of a bitch," Tony says, wheezing. "You—" 

They vetted Edwin, they both did. He and Peggy… "What the *hell* is going on?"

Tony shoves him up against a table and growls, "You look tired."

Howard is almost grateful when his eyes slide shut. 

***** 

He's strapped to an exam table again. He doesn't bother struggling or ranting, though he wants to. That won't do any good, not one bit.

He stares at the ceiling and allows himself to seethe for an hour. Just one hour, then he plans.

He's not going to be a prisoner here longer than he has to.

***** 

Howard is strapped to the table for three days before Tony lets him out.

Neither of them says anything. But there's really nothing to say. 

***** 

He waits a few days more, then he looks up at the surveillance camera and says, as heartfelt as he can muster, "I'm sorry, Tony. I… I hope I didn't hurt you. You have to know that wasn't my intent. I just wanted to get out of here. It's so damn boring. And I hate being bored, makes me testy. Maybe you can give me something else to play with? Please?"

Nothing happens because Tony's on high alert, but he won't always be so careful. 

***** 

"I… I knew Captain America pretty well," he says softly. He hates sullying Steve's name this way, using it as a means to an end. But he knows Steve would understand, would want him to get out, be safe. "We were good friends. You wouldn't know it from his costume, but he was an unassuming guy. He didn't like calling attention to himself. Not like me. He—" Howard's voice breaks, but he just takes a deep breath, and continues. "He told me once that I was born for the spotlight." Steve had said it so proudly, as if being a showman was something to aspire to, as if it was more important than what he did. "He was amazing. He was so…" Howard closes his eyes. "He was special. When he died, when Cap died, the world lost someone amazing." He takes a deep breath, then another. He opens his eyes and stares up at the camera. "I miss him." 

***** 

"So there I was, in a skirt and stockings, leaning over Phillips' desk when he walks in. The man doesn't bat an eye, he just says, 'Stark, you're the ugliest woman I've ever seen.' What could I do?" Howard shrugs, chuckling to himself. "I looked over my shoulder, smiled, and said, 'That's only because you haven't seen Dum Dum in a dress'." He shakes his head. "He actually put me on KP duty. Still, I managed to get the liquor from his desk and Barnes owed me five bucks." 

***** 

It's week before Tony comes back to see him. A week of talking until his voice is hoarse and his chest aches from the memories. A week of spilling his guts and not letting Tony see how much it hurts. God, It hurts.

Tony walks into the room, wary as hell, hovering close to the exit.

Howard doesn't move from his position on the bed, doesn’t do more than turn his head to look at Tony. "I'm sorry," he says again, for the hundredth time.

"If you move from the bed, I will put you out."

"Understood." He sighs and rubs his eyes. "Do you have family, Tony?"

Tony swallows hard and clears his throat. "A cousin, but we aren't close. But I have friends. Good friends."

"Yeah, yeah, me too. I have a brother, a younger brother… we became estranged after my parents died." Eddie never understood Howard's hatred, his bitterness. But then, Eddie was the good son, the golden boy who could do no wrong. 

"That's rough," Tony says, but doesn’t sound like he means it.

"It was for the best, I suppose. He'd be worried now." He's silent for a few moments, then he whispers, "Do you have an end game, Tony? You can't keep me here forever."

"I'm not. I… I meant to let you go months ago, but you… You're a stubborn bastard." Tony leans back against the wall and rubs his eyes. "I'm not even sure why I did this in the first place. Sometimes, I get these ideas in my head and before I can stop myself, I'm in the middle of making them a reality. St— My best friend says I have impulse control issues."

Howard snorts. "Maybe you do." 

"Maybe. Or maybe I just don't like unanswered questions. Maybe I— Maybe I was looking for an excuse. I try not to think too much about my motives." Tony laughs softly to himself. "Jesus, I'm screwed up." He looks at Howard. "Do you ever have doubts about what you do? Making weapons? Selling them?"

It's Howard's turn to laugh. He considers lying, he considers telling Tony what he tells everyone: the pat answer, the one that helps people sleep at night. But after a moment, he decides on the truth. "Yes. Of course I do. The ranks of the enemy are always filled with boys, some of them barely old enough to shave."

"Why don't you stop?"

"Because that won't stop wars from happening, Tony. I have too many friends who are soldiers and I want to keep them safe, any way I can. I want to make sure they come home alive. I'm willing to bloody my hands for them." 

"I wasn't," Tony says. "I found another way."

Howard frowns, confused. "You're a smarter man than I, then." 

Tony smiles brightly. "Yeah, I am."

***** 

Howard keeps the sharp sliver of metal he cannibalized from one of Tony's gadgets hidden from view as he crumples to the ground, dry heaving, and making pained little sounds deep in his throat. 

If Tony is in his workshop, he'll come. He always does. 

When the door opens, Howard suppresses a smile and tightens his grip on the metal. Tony gets to his knees to comfort Howard. And Howard uses a move that he learned from Peggy, slamming Tony's head to the ground, knocking him unconscious, before pulling him up and holding the metal against Tony's neck. "You say the trigger words and I swear I will slit his throat before I go down. Do you understand me?"

"Yes, sir," says Edwin.

"Open the damn door. Now!" When the door slides open, he drags Tony out towards the workshop's exit, his heart pounding in his ears, his breathing coming in harsh pants. "Now open this door. Come on, come on! I'll kill him. I will kill him!" He hears the click and he somehow manages to pull it open. Tony groans, eyes fluttering. Howard looks around frantically, sees the door labeled emergency exit. "You're lucky I don't kill you," he whispers, shoving bits of fabric in his ears. When he can't hear anything, he lets Tony fall to the ground and makes a run for it. He reaches the emergency exit and yanks, praying that the door opens. When it does, he gives a quiet sob and rushes into the stairwell. 

He doesn't pause, just runs down the stairs as fast as he can, his bare feet slapping against the cold metal. He makes it down one flight of stairs when the emergency lights go off. Edwin must have sounded the alarm. 

Howard redoubles his efforts, stumbling down the steps in his haste. He groans loudly as his knees and hands hit the landing. He gives himself a moment, just a moment to breathe, that's when he feels the vibrations of the metal and he knows, oh, he knows, they're close. 

He scrambles to his feet and pulls open the door to get out of the staircase. He quickly shuts the door behind him, wipes his bloody palms against his jeans, and looks down a long hallway peppered with doors. Maybe he can hide in one of these rooms. He jogs towards the one farthest from the exit and just as he reaches it, something slams into his shoulder, shoving him against the wall. He screams in pain, blood splattering the wall, his arm goes limp and he reaches with his good hand to staunch the bleeding. That's when he feels… he feels blood and tissue and metal and wires and he doesn't understand. What's going on? He doesn't understand what this is. He—

Someone grabs him and spins him around and he gets the second shock of the day. Standing before Howard in all his lovely glory is a man who he knows is dead. "Steve?" he says helplessly, shaking his head in denial. 

Steve's eyes widen—and they're the right shade of blue, the perfect blue of a clear summer's day—and he takes a few steps back, bringing his shield up. 

He pulls the bits of fabric from his ears; his shoulder flares and he groans in agony. "I'm hallucinating. Steve, I… You're not real."

"You're dead," Steve says, voice trembling. "Howard, you're dead."

Howard opens his mouth to reply, but before he can, he hears someone shout, "You look tired!" He's never been so happy to hear those words.

***** 

Howard wakes to an argument. He wakes but he doesn't open his eyes; he doesn't want to see Steve. No, he doesn’t want to see the man who looks like Steve, but can't be because Steve is dead. He died over a decade ago.

"You had no right, Tony! You had no right to do this," Not Steve says, angrily

"I don't have a right? I don't— " Tony sounds just as angry. "Hate to tell you this, Capsicle, but seeing as how he's my dad, I'm the only one who *does* have a right to do this." 

"That *thing* is not your dad!"

"Wow, Steve, way to be… racist? Speciesist. Humanist?"

"This isn't a game, Tony! This—"

Edwin cuts in, "Sir, Captain Rogers, Mr. Stark is awake." 

"About damn time!" A moment later Howard feels a hand gently slap his face. "Wake up, Sleeping Beauty."

Howard slowly opens his eyes and immediately looks over at Steve. "You're dead. You flew a plane into the ocean and you died."

Steve crosses his arms over his chest and clenches his jaw. 

"He didn't die," Tony says a moment later. "The serum had a interesting effect on him. Instead of killing him, the extreme cold put him in a state of suspended animation. We found him a year ago."

"Impossible. I would have heard about it." He can't take his eyes off Steve. 

"Yeah, about that… Lift your right arm. C'mon, 2.0." Tony nudges him.

Howard tears his gaze from Steve and lifts his arm. He mouth drops open and a feeling of pure horror washes over him. It's not his arm. It's… it's a machine. It's metal and plastic and wires and it's attached to him. He can wiggles and move it. "No," he says, shaking his head. "No. No, no, no, no!" He feels bile rise in his throat, even as a small part of him is lit with wonder. "What did you do to me?" He stares at Tony, his distress growing stronger by the minute. "What the fuck did you do to me?"

"Oh, hey, no. I didn't—Well, okay, I did. But—" Tony takes a deep breath. "You're an android." 

"You're insane," Howard says. "You are… I'm Howard Stark. I know I'm Howard Stark. I'm not a… a robot!"

"Your body is artificial, but your intelligence isn't. I found a brain-scan you made at some point and I downloaded it into, well, into your new brain."

"That is impossible!" 

"It's what you were working on, wasn't it? That's the last thing you remember before showing up here." 

"Yes, but…" He looks around the room, at the futuristic equipment. "What about Edwin. I heard his voice!"

"Ed—" Tony sighs heavily and runs his fingers through his hair. "You mean JARVIS. He's my artificial intelligence. I modeled him after the family butler, Edwin Jarvis."

"You're crazy." Howard's heart is pounding in his chest and his eyes burn and he's fighting the urge to scream. The only thing that's keeping him together is Steve. "He's crazy, Steve. Whatever he told, whatever he said, it's me. It's Howard."

Steve's face goes completely blank. "No, you're not."

"Steve." He reaches out a hand, before realizing it's the—the injured one and lets it drop.

"It's 2013," Steve says. "Howard Stark died over twenty years ago in a car crash. A car crash that also killed his wife. He left behind a son, Anthony Edward Stark. Tony for short."

"Hi, Dad!" Tony grins at him.

"That's impossible! You know that's impossible, Steve. You—"

Steve shoves him down on the exam table and growls, ignoring Tony's comment that Steve 'watch the merchandise'. "Howard is dead. You are just a *thing* with his face and his voice! He's dead and you're *nothing*."

"But I remember," he says, his voice cracking under all the emotions swelling up inside of him. His eyes sting and he fights down the urge to cling to Steve. "I remember every moment—" He takes a deep, shuddery breath. "I remember that day. I remember—It was three days after you got back to camp. After you saved those boys. It was raining and I went to your tent and I was soaked through. Steve, I was soaked through and you told me to take off my clothes before I caught a cold. And you wrapped me up in your blanket and gave me some booze."

Steve takes a hasty step back, grief evident on his face.

"I remember what happened next. I remember, Steve. How could I remember if I wasn't me?"

"Actually," Tony starts to say, before Steve glares him into silence.

"You're a copy of Howard. Just a copy." Steve takes a deep breath. "I'm sorry, but the man who was there that night, he's dead." 

Steve turns to walk away and Howard can't help it. "I love you!"

"I loved him, too," Steve says, his steps never faltering.

"Huh. Well, that explains a lot." Tony scratches his chin.

Howard feels something inside of him break open and he closes his eyes against the pain and despair. 

"Hey, Dad, it's gonna be okay." Tony touches his shoulder and he jerks away. "Well, at least nothing's changed." 

***** 

Saying the trigger will put him to sleep for eight hours if he's not woken up. As soon as he looks through the data Tony's provided, he says the phrase. 

Each time he wakes, he says it again, and again, and again. He says it so many times that, eventually, Tony hooks him up to a computer and deletes the trigger from his programming.

_"It's not programming," Tony says. "Your body is mechanical, mostly mechanical, 90 percent mechanical, but your intelligence is 99.9 percent biological. Ish."_

That's all right. He doesn't need the trigger to sleep. 

***** 

Howard wakes when the door to his cell slides open, but he keeps his eyes closed because it's only Tony. It's only ever Tony. He hears the sound of something being rolled into the room and he's curious, but not enough to turn over.

"I never thought I'd see the day you'd give up, Howard Stark," says an achingly familiar voice.

"Peggy!" He opens his eyes, jerks up, and smiles. When he sees her, looking frail and small in her wheelchair, his expression falters. "You look—" 

The word stick in his throat, but she smiles at him, the same smile he remembers. "Old. I think the word you're looking for is old."

He forces himself to smile and reaches over to take her hand; her skin feels thin and papery. "What I was going to say, Agent Carter, is that you look as beautiful as you did the first time I saw you." 

"Liar." She squeezes his hand, then touches his face. "Dear God, you're the one who looks the same. Not a day over twenty-six."

"Yes, Tony said he wanted to," Howard pauses while he searches for the correct phrasing, "to age me down a bit."

"Twelve years is more than a bit." She caresses his cheek and brushes her thumb against his lips. He turns and kisses her palm. "Some men have all the luck."

"Is that what you call this?" he asks bitterly.

"Yes. The question is, why don't you?" She narrows her eyes and he looks away. "You have a chance to see the future. To live your life free of expectations and responsibilities."

"I liked my responsibilities," he says. "Building SHIELD with you, running my company, they made me happy." 

"Bullshit, Howard. That's a load of bull and you know it." She crosses her arms over her chest. "You helped me with SHIELD because you felt you had to after Steve died. As for your company, running it bored you to tears and you lamented the fact that it pulled you from your workshop."

"At least they were mine!" He flings his hands in the air. "Here, I have nothing. No business, no money, no history, not even a name!" 

"You have me," she says softly.

He wants to ask her for how long, but he's not that cruel. "I have you."

"But you don't have Steve." Peggy cups his face. "I think that is what is really bothering you."

He laughs softly. "I used to dream about what it would be like if he were to come back from the dead. It was never like this, not even in my nightmares." He wipes his eyes with the back of his hand; he doesn't know why Tony gave him working tear ducts. "He called me a thing. A copy."

"Well, he was never the brightest bulb in the bunch."

"Peggy! That is not true!" He gives her a stern look. True, Steve isn't a genius, but he grasps concepts quickly.

"It's a little true. Especially when it comes to relationships." She grins at him and for a moment, the years slip from her face and she's twenty-four again.

"It is not," he says, just to be contrary. Peggy snickers and he fights not laugh. Then she pokes him in the chest and he can't help himself. He's laughing and she laughing and there are tears in her eyes to match his. It takes them awhile to pull themselves together, but when they do, he looks over at her and takes her hand. "Why  didn't I marry you?"

Peggy smiles and presses a kiss to his cheek. "It probably had something to do with you being a gigantic poofter."

"Hmm, yeah. Didn't seem to stop me later on, though." He pauses slightly before continuing. "What happened, Peggy? Why did I—Do you know why?"

"Honestly, I'm not sure. By the time you married we... we didn't see much of each other." She looks away briefly, as if the memory hurts her.

"I'm sorry."

"Why? It's not your fault. It's not anyone's fault. We'd just grown apart. It happens sometimes, Howard."

"I'm still sorry." This time he touches her face. "You're my best friend."

"And you're mine." She pats his hand. "It's a pity you don't remember being married or having Tony."

He makes a face. "From what I've gathered, that's probably a blessing. I don't think I was a very good husband or father. Not that I'm surprised. I mean, Jesus, Peggy, a *wife*. And you know how I am with children."

"I know, I know," she says soothingly. 

"What about you? Did you marry? Did you have children?"

"No. I never had time. But I don’t regret it, so you can wipe that pitying look of your face, Howard." Peggy smacks his head. "I have a good life. And very few regrets. Now I want you to have a good life, and you can't do that in here."

He crosses his arms over his chest and stares down at his feet. After a moment, he whispers, "I'm scared. I've never been so scared."

"I know, love. But you have me to watch your back."

He looks up at her. "Do you promise?"

"I promise." She smiles. "Now wheel me up to my room. I'm exhausted."

"Yes, ma'am." Howard gets to his feet and slowly pushes her out of the cell.

"You'll love the future, Howard. It's extraordinary."

He doesn't doubt her for a moment.


End file.
